Gray Sweater
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: A one-shot inspired by the gray sweater Ilsa wore in the beginning of 'The Return of Baptiste'


She loved to torture him.

If asked later, he'll deny it even though everyone knows it. That stupid gray sweater-shirt thing that she's wearing with that black showing-just-the-right-amount-of-leg pencil skirt and those shiny black, patent leather heels that make her legs look a thousand miles long, they're driving him crazy. Whenever she moved just right or raised her arms, the shirt raised up just enough for him to get a peek at the soft skin of her stomach.

Pure, unadulterated, malicious torture.

That's all it was.

Torture.

Every time she walked by him, he found himself hoping she would raise her arms or do something to raise the shirt just so he could get a peek at her stomach. She either knew what she was doing and did it on purpose or she had no clue and did it purely by accident.

_Hmph!_

There was nothing accidental about the sexy, sultry British woman. Absolutely nothing. She could be sexy or demure and never realize what she did to every red-blooded male within a twenty mile radius. The woman could get away with murder simply by looks alone.

He was pretty sure he had experienced pain that was more fun than suffering through the torture of wanting something that he could never have. Watching as she walked back to her office, her hips moving smoothly as if they had a mind of their own, her high heels clicking on the floor, Chance growled under his breath.

"Torture."

Suddenly finding himself in need of a shower, preferably cold and possibly more than one, he rushed upstairs to his bathroom. He was possibly the biggest pervert within a twenty mile radius-okay, so that wasn't true, there was a bigger pervert two blocks down-but that pervert didn't have to rush to the nearest shower and possibly turn into the first human Popsicle just so he could get some very dirty, inappropriate images and thoughts out of his head.

Okay, so who knew what that little pervert did, he didn't really care, all he cared about was keeping the little pervert off of Ilsa.

The icy spray of water from his shower head shocked him and made him nearly jump in shock. Fifty degree water and being distracted didn't mesh well together-various parts of his anatomy would concur to that particular sentiment.

He quickly finished his shower, dried off and eyed his clothes. He could play a really dirty, possibly evil trick on Ilsa, if he just happened to leave his t-shirt sitting in his bathroom. He quickly dressed in his jeans, forgoing the black shirt sitting on the sink.

The t-shirt could wait.

If she was going to torture him in that little sweater all day, than why should he have to wear a shirt at all?

He knew the possible ramifications of what he was doing. She was either going to slap him silly-which for all he knew, she may have been more than capable of-or she was going to do something inappropriate which he wouldn't mind.

If he's honest, he's hoping it's the latter.

The former was painful-trust him, he knew, he had been down that road before.

The latter would certainly be much more enjoyable, regardless of the endless cold showers he might end up taking because of it. Fifty degree water had to feel good at some point. Just as long as he didn't let himself get distracted.

_Hmph!_

With Ilsa walking around in that little gray piece of material she called clothing, every man with a twenty mile radius was distracted. Only he had it worse-he worked with the woman so the walking torture device was always within reach, although always just out of his grasp.

Eternal damnation.

If he had believed he was destined for eternal damnation before, after thinking very inappropriate thoughts about Ilsa, he definitely believed it now. That's all he was bound for if she kept wearing those tiny little tops to work every single freaking day.

The thought of Ilsa wearing tiny little tops to work everyday made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and the need for another cold shower suddenly arise. The woman would drive him insane if she wore tops like that to work everyday.

He grinned mischievously as he took one last glance at his t-shirt before walking out of his bathroom in nothing more than a pair of jeans.

Call it Karma.

xxx

She knew from the very moment he walked down the stairs with messy wet hair and nothing on but a pair of mouth-wateringly dark jeans that hugged certain parts of his anatomy just right, that she would be damned to the very depths of hell. His blue eyes looked a little darker, his skin looked a little more delicious and the lower parts of his anatomy certainly weren't suffering either. The top half of his anatomy looked, shall we say, edible.

He had just showered, forgone a t-shirt and was walking around as if there were no females present.

His forgone shirt had left his nicely developed abdomen and his delicious looking arms exposed for her viewing pleasure. Pleasure-yes, that was most definitely the word. His fierce, sexy dragon tattoo wrapped around his arm was prominent and the idea of seeing just how many ways one could trace said tattoo with the tongue occurred to her. The number of ways one could have fun with a tattoo were infinite and she was thinking about a thousand of them.

"Enjoying the view?" He commented with a playful, easy grin.

She quickly looked away as the heat of embarrassment at having been caught flushed her cheeks a bright red. His ocean eyes quickly scanned her body, from the gray sweater thing all the way down to the shiny black heels that completed her outfit. The black pencil skirt was short, hugged her nicely and revealed a generous amount of her long, shapely legs. The woman kept herself in good shape-if her shapely legs were any indication of what the rest of her body looked like.

"You are-" Ilsa stumbled to find an answer that was going to make her blush thirty more shades of red. "You are pure unadulterated evil!"

There it was. The reaction he had been hoping to get. She had pumped her arms like a child throwing a temper tantrum and unknowingly given him a glimpse of the beautiful stomach she was hiding under her clothes.

"Enough about me, let's focus on you." Chance growled, catching her off guard.

"Me, what on earth are you talking about?" Ilsa asked him innocently, blinking her wide brown eyes as if she didn't have a clue.

"That stupid little thing you're calling a shirt," Chance growled again, "I'm shocked it covers what it does."

"Well at least, I'm wearing a shirt." Ilsa snapped angrily, "Why do you care so much?"

"Well I think I've had all the cold water I can handle for one day!" Chance growled angrily, his eyes darkening a few shades. He was trying to avoid backing himself into a corner as he said, "And I think a few parts of my body would agree!"

Realization dawned on Ilsa quickly and quickly brought an easy smirk to her face. "Thinking about me, Mr. Chance?"

Oh Crap!

There was that corner that he had tried to avoid but had inadvertently backed himself into. There she was throwing "Mister" around like it was the sexiest word to ever be said-and coming out of her mouth, with a distinct, sultry British accent, it was the sexiest word he had ever heard and there he is backed into a corner unable to do anything about it.

"Now Ilsa, let's not-" Chance started, holding his hands up in defense.

"Let's not what, jump to conclusions? Or is that jump in a cold shower?" Ilsa smirked, "Still thinking about me?"

"Every man within a twenty mile radius is thinking about you, Ilsa!" Chance growled as he quickly came back. "I can think of three different guys you passed on your way to work this morning that are probably still thinking about the fact that your legs are bare and the fact that your shirt doesn't fit quite like it should."

"Again, at least I had the common decency to wear a shirt!" Ilsa snapped, turning to walk away from him. "Why is it such a big deal?"

"Because if it weren't for the fact that you'd probably kill me, I'd have already kissed you." Chance spat angrily, watching her.

She froze, her back went rigid and the sound of her heel pivoting on the floor was the only sound in the office at that precise moment. "Obviously you weren't kidding when you said that you weren't very bright."

"Are you insulting me?" Chance asked her in disbelief.

"And so what if I am?" Ilsa asked him, grinning curiously. "What are going to do about it?"

"What am I supposed to do, Ilsa?" Chance growled angrily, staring her down.

"Well if I have to tell you then maybe I should just walk away now." Ilsa mumbled under her breath. She pivoted on her heel and started to walk away only to have him chase after her and grab her elbow.

"Ilsa, wait!" Chance pleaded quietly.

Dejà vu, anyone?

Ilsa looked down at her elbow and then back up at him, her eyebrows raised. "Well, this is interesting."

He pulled her elbow, sending her tumbling back toward him a few steps. When she was within reach, he slipped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. Ilsa gave into him rather easily-then again his chest was bare and his arms were strong and warm, so her willpower was basically non-existent at this point.

"If I kiss you, are you going to hurt me?" Chance whispered, raising his eyerows.

"Depends. Will you put on a shirt?" Ilsa whispered, "Not that I don't love the shirtless look but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to resist."

"I wouldn't mind." Chance grinned cockily, "Enjoy the view that much?"

"Mr. Chance, do you happen to know what happens when nails-" She paused and raised one perfectly manicured hand up to eye level and smirked as she continued, "-meet bare flesh?"

"Pain." Chance laughed quietly, "You wouldn't?"

She pressed her nails into his neck and lightly drug them down over his chest until she reached the 'v' where their stomachs met. Her eyes gleamed wickedly when he hurriedly pushed her hand away, eager to get her sharp nails away from his bare flesh.

"Got it." Chance groaned, looking down at the red marks her sharp nails had left on his chest. "Geez!"

He pulled her closer if that was at all possible and before Ilsa could even get another word in had crushed his lips against hers in a hot, hard kiss that would leave her lips bruised and swollen for a little while afterward. She found her fingers sliding easily through his messy wet hair and sliding down his neck onto his bare shoulders. His fingers curled easily around her hip, his thumb slipping under the tiny gray sweater she was wearing.

They were too wrapped up in each other to hear the elevator ding or the animated voice of Ames, Winston and Guerrero chatting about the last case. Neither noticed that all three had stopped short upon noticing their boss and co-worker locked in a hot kiss that didn't seem to be coming to an end anytime soon.

"Holy Crap!"

"Dude!"

"Well, it's about time!"

The exclamations from Ames, Guerrero and Winston went completely unnoticed by the pair, who were too busy becoming intimately acquainted with each other's mouths to pay any attention to the world around them.

All because of a gray sweater.

xxx

**Hehe! Gosh, that was a lot of fun to write! I love the way Chance and Ilsa love to torture each other and you know the gray sweater she wore in the beginning of the episode 'Return of Baptiste' did nothing but torture him! LOL! Oh, if only Chance could have been there when Ilsa paid a visit to Captain Harmen..that would have been priceless! **

**Anyway, love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**

**P.S. Purple button leads directly to the page that lets you leave me some love :) I appreciate it when my love is reciprocated!**


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